


glimpse of the silhouettes

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 19:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry isn't sure what the rules are for this. It's hard to believe that there <i>are</i> any, that's there's a handbook just waiting for him to buy: <i>why is my best mate getting hard in my lap when I touch his arse?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	glimpse of the silhouettes

The first time Harry maybe notices, they’re on stage, of all places. 

It’s Manchester, and the request from Twitter user ‘lickmalik69’ (Zayn’d gotten a laugh out of that one, having to pause from reading it aloud to hide it) is for them to make a human pyramid, which, okay, whatever, they’ve done that plenty of times. They enlist Josh to help them out, be the shining star on top of their tree, and then it’s set, go.

He and Liam immediately volunteer to go on the bottom, like they usually do; they’ve got more upper body strength than the other lads, definitely, and it’s just safer that way, but they still need one more person, and Louis offers, raising his hand and saying into the mic, “I’m th - on the bottom, I’m on bottom, g’head, lads.” 

Harry worries for a second, because he’s Harry and he worries, especially about Louis. He’s smaller than the rest of them, for the most part, and having all that weight centered on him isn’t good at all, and Harry really prefers when he’s the one on top and the less risk that comes along with that. He catches Louis’ eye, raises a questioning eyebrow at him. Louis exaggeratedly rolls his eyes, turning away from Harry to murmur something into Niall’s ear.

Harry brushes it off, asks Liam to go in the center, and flashes him a grin when he agrees. Louis and Liam are on hands and knees quick enough, and it’s only Harry left, but he’s stretching for absolutely no reason at all other than it makes the crowd laugh and he likes that, wants them happy. 

“Ladies - and gents - dontcha think if one Harry Styles would hurry up, we’d be able to get this show on the road?” Louis asks, bracing himself with one forearm and leaning over to say this into Liam’s mic, lying in front of them. 

Harry mocks his earlier gesture, rolling his eyes and walking across to his place, smacking Louis on the ass for his cheek. Lou’d been in the middle of saying something else, about how Harry moves just as slow as he talks, probably worse, they could definitely hold a poll on opinions, but when Harry does this, it’s like his voice just dies down in his throat for a split second. Harry’s confused over why for a moment, but Louis’ got hold of himself faster than it even happened, even if his voice seems a bit higher than before, and there’s a show to get going. Another day. 

-

He’s forgotten that anything off ever even happened until two weeks or so later, driving into Germany from France. The five of them are just settling down to watch a movie, some indie film that Zayn picked out that Louis and Niall only agreed to because there’s a promise of nudity, dirty fucks they are, and Louis is just coming back from the kitchenette with a half-empty carton of pizza held tight in his hand. He’s climbing back onto the huge bed/sofa thing that's still hard to explain, even after getting used to it, stepping over Liam’s legs with an, “excuse me, mate, important object coming through,” and getting ready to sit in the empty space next to Niall. Harry’s feeling a bit cheeky, and he lifts his hands from where they’d been idly resting to slap both across Louis’ bum, hard. Usually, if anyone hits him anywhere, regardless of whether it hurts, Louis will curse them out and just move on, but at this it’s like he almost stops moving, frozen in place. 

It isn’t until Niall complains, “Lou, get your fuckin’ arse out of my face and sit the fuck down, movie’s starting,” that he gets a move on, finally placing his leg down. Harry’s intrigued by now, remembers Manchester and wants to know why Louis’ suddenly getting stuck just because Harry’s hit his ass. 

“Y’alright, Lou?” he asks. He wishes he could see Louis’ face to try to gauge what’s going on. 

Louis nods, a tad more eagerly than called for, and makes to sit down. Harry sneaks his arms out to grab him by the waist and pull him down onto his lap, just because, and tightens his arms when Louis squirms and complains, “ _Harry_ , lemme go.” 

“Absolutely not,” Harry replies cheerily. Louis’ legs have splayed out on either side of his, spread wide open, because of the way Harry’d so suddenly pulled him back, and he places his hands on the inside of Louis’ thigh to help pull him closer into Harry’s chest, resting his chin on Louis’ shoulder and returning his hands to their place around Louis’ waist. “You’re stuck wi’me forever.”

Louis sighs exasperatedly, but he relaxes now, letting his body go lax on Harry’s just as someone begins to speak on the TV overhead. Lou’s quiet for the rest of the film, save for when Liam and Harry try to steal slices of pizza from his box (he lets Harry get away with it, pinches Liam harder than usual in the nipple), and it’s weird, that, because Louis’ usually an ongoing commentary whenever they watch a movie together, whether the lads want it or not. Harry’s still thinking about this and if they have any correlation with the sudden catches by the time the film is over and Louis frees himself from Harry’s grip, yelling triumphantly. 

Harry, wondering, watches him race Zayn into the cooler for the last beer, threatening to tweet a nasty review on the film they’ve just watched if Zayn even lays a hand on it. (It almost loses a star on IMDB before Zayn emerges from his shell and lets the world know that Louis was just being a bitch and it’s a fantastic watch.) 

-

It comes to a head on their last European date. 

They’re doing soundcheck for their last concert before a glorious ten day break. Louis is past the point of effort; he’s been sick with a cold all week, and it’s been bit miserable for all of them, because he’s a complete shit with he’s sick. To everyone else, anyway. To Harry he’s usually just pouty and sad, making Harry want to cuddle him and take all the sick away. This sometimes works, but tends to have the unwanted effect of Harry getting sick, too. Price we pay for wings, etcetera. 

Louis’ leaned against the stairs now, looking absolutely horrid and pained, palm pressing against his temple. Harry can’t help but call out, “hey, can we take a break, just for five, Lou doesn’t... y’know? ”

The other boys nod, setting their own mics down and hopping from the stage to get a bottle of water from the cooler Paul’s got set up below the speakers. Harry goes over to where Louis is standing and pulls him into a tight hug. His boy sighs into Harry's neck, hugging back and slumping forward. 

"C'mon," Harry murmurs. "Let's go sit."

Louis nods, lets Harry drag him backstage, aligning all the chairs in the row. Harry sits down on one and then pulls Louis over his lap before he can say anything about it, arranging his body so that he can stretch out along the design. Harry's sure that any other time Louis would complain fervently, but he doesn't; Harry chalks it up to how sick he is and resolves to remember to at least get Lou some lozenges to soothe his throat. Singing with a sore throat is always horrible.

"M'gonna die," Louis mumbles into the plastic seat. 

"You're not going to die," Harry reassures him, patting him once lightly on the bum. 

Louis heaves out a shaky breath. "You don't know that."

Harry doesn't grace him with an answer, choosing instead to hum a reggae tune under his breath and play the bongo on Louis' ass, just to see how long it'll take Lou to yell at him in this distressed state. 

Louis doesn't - he doesn't do that. Harry continues with it, but doesn't notice the way Louis has been squirming or the way his breathing has steadily been getting heavier until its too late and he can feel Louis hardening against his thigh, body tense and almost pushing back into Harry's hands. Harry freezes. 

"Lou?" he questions, confused. 

"Oh my God, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Louis rambles, scrambling off of Harry and running away as quickly as he can in this state. Harry knows he should get up, follow him to make sure he's okay, but he's stunned and frozen, palms still stretched out in midair as if they're waiting for something to touch again. Harry isn't sure what the rules are for this. It's hard to believe that there _are_ any, that's there's a handbook just waiting for him to buy: _why is my best mate getting hard in my lap when I touch his arse?_ Harry takes a deep breath and resolves to ask Louis about it later. 

Except, of course, that later never comes. 

Louis clings to Niall for the rest of the day, obviously avoiding Harry and only bothering to speak to him when they’re surrounded by the other boys or any of the endless members of their crew. There isn’t enough time to corner Louis about it, force him into having the conversation like is necessary whenever Louis is hellbent on _not_ talking about something, because they’ve got a show to put on and soundcheck before that and Harry can’t not put his all into this single concert for Portugal just because Louis is... Harry isn’t sure what Louis be being, but he won’t quite meet Harry in the eyes at any point. It’s not as if Harry can simply forget what happened, though; he needs an explanation. He _deserves_ an explanation, fuck. 

He’s confused and feeling weird and the theory he’s got running in his head is scaring him in the way it’s not making him feel anything even remotely negative. 

During their second dress change, after Harry’s pulled his shirt down over his head and Louis is helping Liam find his own in their mess of a dressing room, he goes up to him, asks, “Lou, can we talk?”

Louis doesn’t look at him, emerges from behind the clothing rack with Liam’s shirt grasped tight in his hands. “Nothing to talk about, Haz.”

Harry exhales through his nostrils. It’s getting annoying. “You know there is. I’m not - Lou. Just for a minute, please - ”

Louis looks absolutely relieved when they're called to go back on stage, throwing the shirt to Liam and tilting his body so that he doesn’t have to touch Harry when he walks by. “We’ve got a show to put on, H, don’t dawdle. It’s unprofessional.” 

Liam asks him as as they step back onto their platforms, pulling his shirt down and fixing the collar, “You and Louis okay?”

“Peachy,” Harry lies. It’s clear that Liam doesn’t believe him a single bit, but Harry isn’t going to share this with the other boys. He isn’t sure why, but he’s just got a gut feeling that doing so would be an extraordinarily bad idea, and he’s learned by now that it’s almost always best to follow his gut. 

-

They’ve got about two weeks in between Lisbon and Mexico City. Louis decides, seemingly out of the blue, to extend his six-day visit to Doncaster to the entire break. And, like, it’s not as Harry’s upset that Louis is going to see his family, that’d be horrible and hypocritical, since he’s going to see his own, too, but it’s the - Louis is stretching it out so much in order to get away from Harry. He knows this. It sounds conceited and self-centered to say so, maybe, but Harry knows Louis, and Harry knows what Louis’ entire schedule was supposed to be before their... incident, and it definitely wasn’t to spend twelve days hiding out in Donny. 

-

By the night of their first Mexico concert, Harry is on edge and more than a bit pissed off. Maybe not pissed, but. It could get there. It’s going to get there. 

It’s not only Louis avoiding the inevitable conversation, but he also hasn’t properly spoken to his best friend in two weeks. That’s more upsetting to him than anything else. 

So he decides to hold an experiment. It’s almost definitely a bad idea, especially planning to have it happen on stage, with thousands of faces watching and analysing their every move, but this is his only chance. Louis can’t run away from him on stage without risking a million rumours that the band is breaking up or they now hate each to pop up. Plus, it’ll be a good judge of seeing whether or not he’s right about what he hesitantly thinks might be the issue, and he just fucking needs to know. 

Near the end of _C’mon C’mon_ , they’re both on the platform at the top of the stairs, stood side by side. Zayn is belting out his part, and as Louis makes weird dancelike movements, Harry reaches a hand out where no one can see and squeezes Louis’ bum, soft and lingering. He doesn’t get to see Louis’ immediate reaction before he has to bound away and down the stairs, singing the chorus as he does, but he does notice once he’s down there, turning around and looking up to see, how utterly disoriented Louis looks. So that’s one.

During _Back For You_ , Harry gives him a quick, hard slap when he bounds past Harry, singing his part into the mic. He falters, which has Harry feel bad for a split second that he’s potentially sabotaging their first North American show for some answers, but. He’s always been very curious, and he hates when Louis keeps things from him. 

So he does that a few times throughout the show, ranging in difference and frequency, but Louis always, _always_ reacts, even if it’s in a tiny manner, like a smile slipping off for an unguarded moment before he pastes it back on. By the time Harry’s doing his solo in WMYB, he can feel Louis glaring at his back, but he’s also seen the desperate and pleading looks Louis has been shooting him when he thinks he’s not looking, and those mean a lot more. Louis glares a lot, but Louis isn’t good at looking vulnerable. Louis doesn’t like being vulnerable in any way. That is probably why he’s been keeping this from Harry. 

Backstage, Louis goes back to trying to get away from Harry, but this time Harry is a lot less confused - even though he's still pretty confused - and twice as frightened as he'd been two hours ago. 

By the time Harry has finished changing back into normal clothing, Louis is dragging Zayn by the arm and yelling for Paul to give them permission to go out. Harry stares at his back as he goes and doesn’t let it get to him. 

-

They’re in Miami by Monday evening, and Harry isn’t going to be deterred. 

Niall wants to hit South Beach, to see if the clubs really are as lively and brilliant as everyone always says they are. Zayn and Liam immediately agree, but Harry isn’t feeling too up for it, shrugging the offer off and looking back at his phone to continue texting Ed. But... 

Louis says, “which club were you planning on going to, lads?”

“Lou,” Harry interrupts, looking up. “I thought you said you were gonna help me do that thing online?”

Louis looks over at Harry slowly. Harry meets his eye full on, refuses to let him look away. Harry doesn't know how to describe the look on Louis' face. It seems to be a curious mix of murderous, frustrated, embarrassed. The thing is, Harry knows that Louis won't do or say anything that would really make the lads curious and want to know what the fuck's going on. If he says that he won't do the 'thing' with Harry, they'll tell Louis not to skive Harry off if it was a promise, and if Louis tries to deny anymore, they'll _know_ that something is up. Louis doesn't want that and neither does Harry. He doesn't want to embarrass Louis, he just wants some definite fucking answers and a way to resolve this. 

"I thought you'd said it was cancelled," Louis says lightly. Harry can see the way his left index finger is twitching against his thigh, tapping the denim of his jeans over and over. 

"Nope," Harry says, popping the _p_. Nope, I'm not going to let you run away from yet again. Nope, you're not leaving this hotel room until we bloody talk about this. "It's back and running. Ed even resent me the link, just now." He waves his phone in the air, still not letting Louis break the stare. 

“Aw, Tommo, we’ll go again Wednesday so you guys can tag along. Do whatever you’ve got t’do with H, yeah, mate?”

“Right,” Louis responds slowly, finally wrenching his eyes away from Harry’s. “Right.”

"We'll be going then," Niall says, pulling Zayn and Liam out of Harry's hotel room with them. Winking, he adds, "don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Louis scoffs. "As if," he snarks, voice and bite weak. "There's nothing you're not willing to do."

"One night in LA, Louis, let me live with my mista - " 

Zayn sighs, tugging and pushing Niall that final step out the door, smiling once at Harry and Louis before shutting it behind him. 

So that leaves the two of them. 

"I'm gonna go," Louis says awkwardly. Louis doesn't do anything awkwardly, not without it being in purpose, and... fuck. Fuck. 

Harry rushes to stand up, borderline races to Louis, grabbing his forearm before he gets a chance to leave. Again. "Lou, stop - stop running away."

"I'm not running away from anything," Louis answers him, pulling his arm free. Harry knows he could hold on tight enough that Louis wouldn't be able to do that, but shit, he doesn't want that. He just wants Louis to tell him what's up, what's going on. To confirm or deny what Harry _thinks_ is going on.

"Fucking bullshit," Harry says, taking a move forward. Louis takes a step back; Harry's eyes narrow, getting closer and closer to reaching the point of annoyance. So Harry takes another step closer. Louis takes another back. This continues on, Louis so afraid of Harry to touch him, but ends up with Louis pressed back against a wall and Harry standing directly in front of him, looking down with a vague sense of triumph. That is, until Louis tries to slip away and Harry is forced to cage him in, palms flat against the white hotel walls on either side of Louis' head and body incrementally closer. This close up, Louis is even warmer and smells like a strange mix of his cologne and the pizza they'd been eating earlier on the bus. "Louis, please, it feels like we're fighting and you know how much I fucking hate when we're fighting. Is it - " 

Harry huffs out a breath, lost at words and what in God's name one would say in a situation like this. "Will you tell me what's going on? Honestly?" 

Louis starts to deny, "nothi - " but Harry cuts him off before he has has the chance, snaking a hand around to grab at Louis' ass roughly. If he won't admit it with his words, then Harry will get an answer with his actions. And he does. Louis moans, high and quick, his muscles tightening as his hips involuntarily jerk forward once into Harry’s. Once the initial reaction has passed, Louis looks _mortified_ , going very very still, molding his back against the wall so as to not have to touch Harry, eyes averted down to the carpet. 

So Harry was right. He lowers a hand to take gentle hold of Louis’ chin to try and raise his head. Louis resists less than he’d expected, but he doesn’t look Harry in the eye, instead keeping a steady watch on whatever is behind Harry’s shoulder.

“I need you to tell me so that I don’t feel like - “ Harry exhales loudly through his nose, shutting his eyes tight for a quick second. “Tell me?”

Louis is quiet and unresponsive until Harry repeats himself, and then he’s shaking his head repeatedly, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. “I can’t,” he croaks out softly.

The thing is that he and Louis have done things before. All of them have. They’re teenage boys, somewhat, and curiosity happens, of course it does. Mutual handjobs and a blowjob in the bungalow and not seeing it as a big deal. It’s not a big deal. Well, it always went a bit farther with Louis, always pushing it whenever it came to the two of them, but even that Harry never minded. He loves Louis like a brother and likes him like... not a brother, fuck, and even though the two of them never talk about it because it’s really just frightening to think about and they’ve tried to put it behind them, it’s there and it’s known and Louis has got to know that Harry wouldn’t be entirely averse to doing something else with him ever. This, though... this is different. Harry has never been against different. 

“I can - I will, like? If you want? I’d do that for you,” he tells Louis. 

Louis finally looks him in the eye. “Harry, what’re you - what’re you saying?”

“You know what I’m saying, Lou, c’mon, just, like. S’not like we haven’t done anything before. And you know I wouldn’t mind. Y’know?”

Louis inhales. “H, you do realise this isn’t, like, this isn’t just a quickie on the tourbus, right?”

“Of course I fucking know, Louis, you won’t even admit it and are just now barely acknowledging it. I’ve had time to think about it. I’m not dumb. I’ve _noticed_ , and then back during the soundcheck and I was - doing that, and you got _hard_ , Lou, yeah? I noticed, you know I noticed and if it’s something you want then I can do that for you. I told you that.”

“Harry,” Louis says hesitantly.

Harry steps back. “Can you tell me, Lou, so that I know if I’m completely embarrassing myself and have apparently got the whole thing wrong? Because it’s been weeks and I’ve been going out of my mind, and all you’ve got to say is yes or no.”

Louis exhales and puts his head back down. “Yes.”

Harry places his forehead on Louis, tilting it up and asks him, again, “yeah?”

Louis shuts his eyes and nods, repeating, “yes. I... yes."

“Jesus,” Harry says, a bit blown. He'd mostly expected for Louis' pride to get in the way and cause him to deny it again. Harry wonders how long Louis has wanted this before someone finally noticed. Harry's just glad it's him. "Okay. Okay."

He takes two steps back and then drops to his knees in front of Louis, hands immediately going to the button of Louis' pants and popping it out of the hole. He doesn't look up at Louis until he's got the zip down, finds Louis looking down at him with wide and disbelieving blue eyes. He tries to smile reassuringly even though he can feel his own heart beating out his ribcage. When he touches skin after dragging the jeans and briefs down to bunch at Louis' feet, he feels a slight tremor to the skin. 

"You're shaking," he murmurs, leaning in and pressing his cheek on Louis' thigh. Like a leaf. He looks up again, earnest and determined, back into Louis' shiny gaze as he turns his face to place a soft, open-mouthed kiss on his inner thigh. "I'll do this so good for you, Lou, I promise.”

He helps Louis step out of his pants, putting them to the side and standing back up. He tugs at the hem of the shirt, waiting for Louis’ nod of approval before pulling it up and away. 

Harry takes a few steps back to get a proper look at his boy and sucks a harsh breath in. It's not that he hasn't seen Louis naked before or even recently; he saw him streaking from the bathroom to the kitchen after Niall to get his toothbrush back this morning in total nudity. It's more the... the knowledge of what's going to happen and what the purpose of Louis being naked is. And that is definitely worth a moment or two of awe. 

Louis is fucking beautiful, all tanned skin and tattoos littered across his body, a bit of sparse hair on his chest. Harry takes his hand, getting permission to carry him over to the door with a short nod. 

"Hands and knees," Harry says. Harry watches Louis hesitate, and places a large hand on the small of Louis' back to comfort. "We're good, yeah?"

Louis nods, hesitancy gone, if only for the moment, and arranges himself as Harry had said, and. God. Fuck.

Harry doesn't even know where to look. Louis' entirely nude and _breathtaking_. His bum is poised in the air, hole clenching around the sudden infuse of cold air, pretty and pink. Harry can hear his painstakingly soft and controlled breaths from where his head in bent between his shoulders, as if he's forcing himself to inhale and exhale properly; the line of his back and the hair on the back of his thighs. His entire body seems to be on edge, tense and waiting for something. 

Once Harry’s climbed onto the bed, kneeling in the space behind Louis, he splays a large hand across his boy’s back and leaves it there until he can feel the muscles of Louis’ back easing up. Once Louis’ body has relaxed as much as it will and Louis is finally breathing properly again, Harry feels like he can begin. He’s frightened, but his heart is oddly slow and even. 

He places a hand on Louis’ bum, rubbing at the skin there and biting his lip at Louis’ sharp exhale.

“Ten?” he asks lowly, still rubbing at the skin. He can feel himself hardening in his trousers and it’s weird, the way he’s still entirely clothed while Louis is naked and bent over on the bed for him. Adds to the severity of the moment, in a way. Severity is the wrong word to use, but Harry’s got just a bit more on his mind right now than being good enough for dictionary.

“Yeah,” Louis breathes. 

Harry holds his breath, raises his hand and then brings it back down immediately. He doesn’t hit hard, of course not, he doesn’t know the etiquette for this but he’s seen things online and that would be stupid of him - but the resounding sound of skin hitting skin echoes loudly in the room. Louder than that, though, is Louis’ answering moan, rough and gritty in his throat and the way his body seems to be shaking in anticipation for the next. 

“So that’s one,” Harry croaks out. 

Harry hadn’t expected this to affect him at _all_ , but there’s something about the way it sounds and the way it looks, the pink tint that appears and disappears almost as soon as Harry removes his hand that just - fuck. Fuck. He’s entirely hard in his jeans, cock straining against its restraints. 

Harry delivers the second smack to the other bumcheek with wide and anticipatory eyes, greedy for the colouring of Louis’ skin and the noises that escape Louis’ mouth, the way his body seems to jump even though the action wasn’t even hard or rough. 

Harry does it again, and again and again, alternating the area each time to minimise the pain. He gives the third and fourth back to back and then pauses and waits for the fifth to see the way Louis holds his breath and tightens his body. It’s fucking beautiful. Louis is fucking beautiful. 

By the sixth, Louis had dropped his arms and has his cheek smushed up against a pillow, panting heavily. When Harry tilts his head, he can see Louis’ erection curved towards his stomach, stark and red as precome leaks out the tip. It looks painful, almost, but what’s most interesting to Harry is that Louis has managed to get hard from this alone, just from Harry slapping his arse. Harry can tell that Louis is purposely trying to stop himself from making any noises, and that bothers him more than it should. 

“Lou,” he says, voice a lot rougher than it was before they started this, “I wanna, lemme hear you.”

It’s almost like floodgates have been erupted. “Oh my _God_ ,” Louis says, keening in the back of his throat as Harry does it again for the sixth time. “Please, I - ” 

“What is it?” Harry asks, hand in midair. This might be affecting him almost as much as it’s affecting Louis. The red shade is sticking at this point, dark imprints in the shape of Harry’s palm on Louis’ ass. He might be going out of his mind with want. He simultaneously wants to stop so that he can get himself inside of Louis in anyway he can, anyway his boy’ll let him and never ever move from this spot, obsessing over the feel of his hand slapping Louis’ skin forever. “Whataya need?”

“Harder. Hit me harder.”

His arsehole is clenching around air again, almost sporadically, as if it’s desperate for something inside of it, and Harry would like that, he’d like it so fucking much, filling Louis up and relishing all his noises, making him come over and over again until he’s dry and sobbing for Harry to stop. Yeah. He wouldn’t mind that. 

“Are you sure?” 

“ _Ha_ rry,” he says, voice cracking on the first syllable. He clears his throat, but it doesn’t hide how absolutely wrecked he sounds, voice slightly muffled by the pillow. “Yeah, fuck.”

Harry is sure he should argue against it more, about not wanting to hurt Louis too much, but he’s just as far gone, which is completely unexpected, and at this point he’d do anything Louis asked of him and more. 

So he hits harder. He hits way harder, probably worse than he should have; it has Louis’ body inching forward, white hotel sheets bunching up under his knees. The hand imprint looks fucking - it looks angry and like it really, really hurt. Harry has to free the hand that’d been resting idly next to Louis’ knee to press against his crotch, resisting the urge to unbutton himself and wank off right there until he comes on Louis’ ass. It’s a lot harder than it should be. He’s losing his mind. 

Louis has already lost it, it seems. He’s rutting forward into the sheets, had let out what sounded a lot like a scream muffled into the pillow when Harry’d spanked him. He turns back onto his cheek to gasp out, “M’gonna come, H, m’gonna - ”

“Not yet,” Harry says, curving a hand in Louis’ hipbone to stop his rutting and holding him in place and snaking a hand around grip Louis’ cock tightly, making sure he can’t come quite yet. He lets go almost immediately when Louis’ hips try to jerk into his hand, not wanting to be counter-effective “Wait for ten, yeah, Lou?”

Louis nods frantically against the pillow. He’s breathing so loudly in what is otherwise a silent room, and Harry feels his blood rush at this, at the thought that this is because of _him_ , that he’s the one giving this to Louis when Louis was too scared and embarrassed to ask for it himself and he loves what Harry is doing for him so much he’s going absolutely out of his mind. This is the most inhibited Harry has seen Louis in so, so long, a different type of vulnerability and high than when he’s drunk or high and he’s bloody gorgeous. Always is. 

Harry does eight and nine just as hard as the last, maybe a bit harder - probably a bit harder - and he does them on the same side; this has Louis essentially incoherent at this point, eyes wet and babbling on about needing to come and making all sorts of noises that Harry is sure he has never before heard in his life. They sound like they’re being wrenched from Louis’ soul or some deeper, darker part of him that’s been aching to be released. Harry likes that idea a whole lot, even if it seems a bit dramatic. 

“Don’t come,” he warns. Warning for what, he doesn’t know. But he wants to see this go all the way through, wants to see Louis falling apart at Harry’s hands climax it into the grand finale. 

“ _Won’t_ , won’t, hurry up please please, Harry, please,” he whines, chanting _please_ over and over again. It’s the hottest fucking that Harry has ever heard, Louis _begging_ him to hurry up and let him come, Jesus Christ, and with a final deep breath and a reminder that he’s not allowed to come on himself, especially not while he’s still got pants on, he smacks Louis’ bum one final time, concluding softly with, “ten.”

Louis comes almost instantaneously, a low shout choking off in his throat as he comes all over his stomach. Harry wishes he could see it, but he doesn’t have the heart to interrupt Louis right now, so instead he just watches the way his back just fucking bows in half as he arches and the way his body just _collapses_ after, limbs giving out and caving in under the pressure of continuing to hold himself up after orgasm.

It’s silent and still for a few moments, save Louis’ heavy panting, until Harry is unable to keep it in any longer and asks, maybe a bit of pleading in his tone, “Louis, can I...” 

Louis lets out a vague affirmative noise, and with a sigh of relief, Harry quickly jumps off the bed to free himself of his jeans, kicking them to the side along with his briefs. His suitcase is blessedly right at the foot of his bed, and after a quick rummaging, he gets his bottle of lube from the inner pocket before climbing back onto the bed. He scoots Louis more forward towards the headboard, grabbing a pillow and placing it under Louis’ hips so that his arse is elevated. His arse is still red, and when Harry gently places his palm over it, Louis hisses softly, like he’s still in pain. 

“Beautiful,” Harry murmurs, uncapping the bottle and dribbling just enough onto his fingers. He edges a finger around Louis’ rim, pressing in up to the knuckle. It looks downright dirty, the way his Grateful Dead ring looks against Louis’ entrance, bloody bears just there while he fingers Louis open. Louis lets out a small contented sound that dissolves into a moan when Harry finds his prostate and curves his finger up to get better access. Louis is making the sweetest noises that have Harry’s insides going wonkers, so ready to fuck Louis it’s embarrassing. 

“Another,” Louis breathes. “S’good.”

Louis is always so nice and soft after he’s come, and it makes Harry’s heart swell at least five sizes too big. It’s almost enough to take the edge off how completely mad he is with want. Almost. He bites his bottom lip as he inserts another finger alongside the first into Louis, watches the way it stretches and contracts around the intrusion. Harry roughly scissors his fingers, smiling to himself at the way Louis groans and grinds his ass back. 

“Are you - ?” he asks Louis, curling his fingers and pressing a wide palm across the small of Louis’ back, watching the way his body curves itself, his bum raising into the air obscenely. 

“I am,” Louis replies, looking over his shoulder to grin lazily at Harry. Harry feels a jolt at the knowledge that Louis is already hard again, and it’s all because of him. Harry twists his fingers a final time, brushing against Louis’ prostate again and making him whine before removing himself altogether, biting his bottom lip harder at the way Louis lets out a disgruntled grunt, clenching at the loss. 

“H,” Louis says quietly, pushing his ass back, eager for something, anything, to be inside of him. 

“Fuck, yeah, I’m... yeah,” Harry pants, taking the lube and putting a drop onto his palm, stroking it up and down on his cock before lining up, the head of his cock bumping against Louis' entrance before he pushes in in one slow movement. He has to take a moment to breathe in harshly through his nose to insure he doesn’t just come right away once he’s bottomed out, hips aligning with Louis’ bum. Louis is tight still, even after the prep, and the way the heat is encircling Harry is - indescribable. 

Louis makes a pained noise in the back of his throat, mumbles, “hurts.” Harry is reminded suddenly that, yes, it would hurt; Louis’ ass is going to be sore and red for days on end. He whimpers, taking a deep breath and shutting his eyes tight. It’s even harder now to not just give in and fuck Louis senseless. Harry isn’t sure how much self-control he has, but he’s fairly positive it’s not much.

Even so. “D’ya want me to stop?” he forces out. 

“No.” Louis turns his head so that his voice is obstructed by the cloth, and Harry almost doesn’t hear him say, “I like it. S’good hurt.”

“Oh,” Harry says, pitch two or three octaves lower than usual. 

“Move, H,” Louis tells him, so Harry does, pulling out before slamming back in, the sound of skin slapping skin and Louis’ keen reminiscent of earlier. 

Harry fucks Louis too hard, setting up a tempo that entices the most amazing moans from his boy’s throat, rocking the bed and making Louis’ ass bounce with every thrust. His bum is still a furious tint of red, and Harry knows it’s got to be more than painful, but Louis takes it, Louis likes it. Harry leans his body forward to press an open-mouthed kiss at the dimples on the curve where Louis’ back rises to give way to his bum, marvelling at the beads of sweat that are pooled there. 

“H _ar_ der,” says Louis, entirely out of breath. Harry gives a vague reply that he’s not even sure is English, curving an arm under Louis’ hips so that he can raise him up even further off the pillow, holding him in place, other hand tight on Louis’ hipbone, pulling out right up to the very tip before pausing and shoving back in so roughly he can feel Louis’ body vibrate with it, the headboard hitting the wall opposite them. 

“Fucking hell,” Harry rasps, repeating the motion over again. “Hold yourself up f’me, Lou?” 

Louis does, scrabbling up before going back on his knees as he’d been earlier, his face still down into the pillows and ass poised up in the air. It’s a sight. 

Harry tilts himself to the right as he thrusts again, knows he’s hit Louis’ prostate when he lets out what sounds suspiciously like a yelp and pushes back. Harry stays in place, bending his body over the one under him, grinding his hips in small circles and placing a now freed large palm over Louis’ bum, lining up with the previous handprints and squeezing at the plump skin. 

“Fuck,” Louis wheezes, body twitching. “ _Move_ , move, please, or I swear - ”

Harry kind of wishes that Louis would shut up, because the lilt of his voice and how totally wrecked he sounds is making it hard for Harry to hold himself together, the familiar heat rushing through his bloodstream and pooling in his gut, his rhythm when he resumes fucking into Louis losing sense. Watching his cock go in and out of Louis isn’t helping at _all_ , so he forces his gaze away, lowering his head to place kisses all along Louis’ spine, sneaking a hand around to take hold of Louis’ cock, pumping once, twice, and rubbing his thumb over the slit before Louis complains, “sensitive.” 

“Want you to come again,” Harry whispers, twisting his wrist sharply and biting down on Louis’ neck.

“Can’t,” Louis sobs, caught between grinding his bum back and fucking into Harry’s hand. 

“Can,” Harry reassures lowly, slamming in hard and slapping Louis’ bum lightly. 

Louis releases an aborted scream deep in his throat and forces his hips back, body shock-still as he comes all over Harry’s hand and the pure white sheets. 

Harry drags his tongue over his bottom lip, tells Louis a second time to hold himself up when he sees him ready to collapse on himself again. 

“Can’t,” Louis repeats scratchily. His voice is all but gone, and in the recesses of his mind Harry can only be grateful that they haven’t a show for another three days. 

“Can.” Harry smiles when Louis does, even though his knees are quivering and look as if they’re going to just fall under the weight. He contemplates for the span of a heartbeat before pulling out all the way, squeezing the base of his cock tightly at the way Louis groans and contracts to try to keep him in. He exhales through his mouth as he wanks himself off frenziedly, right back at the edge but with no desire to stop himself from falling off this time. He brings his left hand up to brace himself on Louis’ back, holding him in place when he finally orgasms, coming on Louis’ bruised bum, trickling down and into his hole. 

“Jesus fuck,” Harry sighs, letting go on his cock and raising the hand to swipe the back of it across his forehead, wiping the sweat off. He traces his index around Louis’ rim, pressing in an inch and sucking in a breath at how good it looks. 

“No more,” Louis tells him, finally letting his body fall forward. Harry hums, removing his finger and crawling over to rest next to Louis on the huge bed, placing them at equal eye-level. 

“Hi,” he whispers, the left corner of his lips lifting. 

“Hi,” Louis sighs, smiling shyly. His eyes are crinkling at the corners, pupils rimmed red and bright blue twinkling and shiny. “Thank you, H.”

“What for?”

“You know what for.”

Harry’s mouth stretches into a grin, feeling his insides warm up softly at the sight of the boy before him. He leans forward and presses a light kiss at the corner of Louis’ mouth. 

“The lads are going to bother us over this for ages,” Louis confesses, rolling his eyes weakly.

“D’ya care?” Harry asks hesitantly. 

“Not particularly.” He takes Harry’s arm and places it over his waist, cuddling closer with a contented noise from the back of his throat. “Stop grabbing my bum on stage.”

“No cigar,” Harry replies, moving his hand a bit farther down and poking Louis in the ass, laughing when he hisses and swats Harry’s hand away. “We good, Lou?”

“Yeah,” Louis murmurs. “We’re good.”


End file.
